Play Your Cards Right
by smileaway96
Summary: When you are dealt a bad hand in life, you play or fold. Work with what you've got, or give everything up. How much can one youth bluff to cover his bad hand? Enough to realize his mistakes, and to realize that, maybe, he isn't the one who holds all the cards. Youth and ambition are a formidable combination, and yet, they are so easily shattered. Please read and review!
1. Tricks of the Trade

**A/N: Thusly, I have returned. Dusty, is my profile.**

 **Boy, I'm looking forward to this one, you guys. So, quick synopsis: this is a dramatization of Maxwell (the Great)'s back-story, going off of the William Carter puzzles and other clues that Klei Entertainment has provided. I will put links to any references I might make, as well as the puzzles themselves where necessary. Just in case you're interested. OC warning. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! :)**

* * *

 _ACT 1_

"Take that, ya filthy Brit!"

The man slammed his cards on the table, producing a straight—two, three, four, five, and six. His opponent sighed theatrically, defeated.

"What can I say?" he muttered, shoving a few coins to the man with the beard. He stared at his hand—an ace, two fives, a nine and a jack. Nothing of use. The man with the beard swiped the coins into his hand and stuffed them into his pocket.

"Ya fight good, Willy," the southerner said. "Not as good as the rough, tough, mean ol' Ralphie Van Schmidt!"

Ralph stuck out his chest with his abundant pride and beat at it with a fist. William stood up and merely bowed and eyed the cards. An idea sprung to his mind.

"May I have a look at that deck?" he asked as Ralph began to shuffle the old playing cards, skillfully pulling them into a bridge and listening to the sound of them flipping rapidly.

"They're clean as my mama's old china plates," Ralph said with a chuckle. "I'll humor ya, Willy. Here, take 'em."

He placed the deck down in front of the tall sophisticate, at the table. The young man flipped through, squinting and nodding as he shuffled the cards with great elegance. Some of the folks at the bar even turned to watch his hands leading the cards in a waltz between his fingers. He pulled the cards into a fan shape, stepping up to the bearded man.

"Take a card, any card," he said, raising an eyebrow under his glasses. Ralph snorted.

"Ah, ya got a couple tricks up yer sleeve, doya?" Ralph snickered, clearly not taking the trick seriously. "You for'ners are cute. All right, gimme one of them there cards."

Ralph slid a card from the middle of the fan and looked at it, nodding. William shuffled the deck a little more.

"Tell me when you've memorized it."

"Oh, I got it 'membered, kiddo."

"Excellent!"

William fanned the cards again, letting Ralph place the card back in the pile. As the Brit's fingers did another dance with the cards, Ralph took a sip of his drink.

William laid the cards on the table, counting them out in piles of ten (not including the jokers, as Ralph had none). The southerner counted in his mind up to the last pile, which only had nine cards, whereas the rest had ten. William felt immense satisfaction when Ralph's bushy brow furrowed in confusion. The people in the bar were taking notice, interested in where the trick was going.

"Ya put my card in yer sleeve," the man said, not wishing to be fooled too easily. To prove this untrue, William shook out his already rolled-up sleeves without a single playing card emerging from them.

"Why, you're right, there is a card missing," William said, pretending to sound astonished. "Gary," he called to the bartender, "Bring your largest bottle of rum over here. And do not open it yet."

A confused murmur went through the people scattered around the bar. Ralph was busy looking under the table for his missing card, bumping his head and cursing while doing so.

"Sonuvapumpkin!"

Gary, a stout fellow, brought a large bottle of rum to the table, setting it down. As more people looked at the bottle filled with the clear alcohol, they applauded the young magician. Ralph lifted his head to see why—there sat a brand new bottle of rum, with the ace of spades at the bottom, facing up towards the bottleneck. The southerner's mouth flew open. William crossed his arms.

"Is this your card, old chap?"

Ralph nodded, dumbfounded by the trick. William took the glass bottle and tapped on it with his pointer fingers, playing out a small rhythm. He rolled down both sleeves over his fingers and took hold of the bottle so that the inside couldn't be seen, covered by his sleeves. As he pulled his hands away, the bottle held nothing but the drink, without a trace of the card. The people clapped softly.

"Now for my final trick," William said, bringing together the deck of cards and shuffling them again. He laid them out on the table in a neat row and strategically flipped them all so that they faced upwards. The final card slid slightly out of the line—the ace of spades.

The people clapped again, impressed. Ralph snatched the card and felt to see if it was wet, his eyes narrowing. After a few moments of silence, he brought his deck back together and shuffled it all.

"Gotta hand it to ya, pardner," the man with the beard said, "I guess I deserved that, hm?"

"All in good fun, sir," William said, beaming like a proud child. He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. "My, how time flies! Begging your pardon, gentleman."

With a few quick goodbyes, William had grabbed his coat and bolted out the door.

* * *

 **A/N: Updates are planned to happen on Tuesdays (even though this it's Wednesday rn)! Thanks again for reading!**


	2. Let's Be Honest

"Thank you! Thank you all very much!"

Such was the routine shout from William as he waved to the ten—maybe twelve—people in the seats before him.

William watched as the bright red curtain closed in front of him, and let out a sigh. A man, roughly forty with a thin black mustache and derby hat, stepped up to him from behind the stage.

"Nice show, kid," he said, slapping the young man on the back with a heavy hand. "You really got something special goin', ya know that?"

William let out a bashful chuckle.

"Well, I'm not so sure if it's that-"

"Nahh, don't even kid yourself, Will. You ought to be proud to be stepping up as a performer, and stickin' to it."

Will brushed the rabbit fur off his hat and tossed it aside. He set it down on the dresser backstage and tidied up his suit and hair.

"I'm certainly happy to be seeing new faces," Will mumbled. "Edgar," he said suddenly, "What is about my act that repels people? I feel like something's missing."

"Everyone does," his agent replied, smoothing out his own hair under his hat. "At some point, the act'll get old."

The young man cringed at the harsh reality, knowing full well that his agent was right. It was in his nature to speak nothing but the truth, after all. Before he could reply, a young lady dressed in a thin, frilly dress ran backstage, breathless.

"Mr. Carter! Oh, Mr. Carter!"

Upon hearing the mention of his name, Will saw the girl's reflection in his mirror and turned to face her. He smiled politely, though the girl was a stranger to him.

"Oh, Mister Carter, I thought your performance was absolutely wonderful!"

The young lady seemed barely able to contain her excitement. William smiled and bowed, as a proper young gentleman would.

"And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he asked, taking the girl's hand and kissing it gently. The girl let out a not-so-subtle giggle.

"Such a gentleman," the girl said, face flushing red. "My name is Elizabeth. I've been attending every one of your shows and I think that you're simply marvelous!"

William stood up, his lanky body towering over the girl's.

"I am William Carter—erm, as you know," he replied clumsily. "I'm delighted to meet such a devoted spectator."

Elizabeth's eyes wandered to Edgar, who, in return, eyed her with confusion and then acceptance. The young lady scooted over to William, as though she were trying to come as close to him as she could without touching him.

"I do enjoy your shows, Mr. Carter," she tittered, inching closer. "Maybe we could get together at the club downtown, hm?"

William's face flushed a bright red as the girl leaned up against his shoulder.

"Well, I, uh—I-I'm afraid I'm quite busy," he answered. "Shows and business to attend to. Oh, please don't get upset," he added quickly as the girl's face fell with disappointment. "Perhaps I can afford to visit."

Elizabeth gave the man some semblance of an innocent giggle.

"You're such a sweetheart," she said. "Meet me there at seven, all right?"

"I . . . yes, I will."

The poor man was left baffled as Elizabeth pranced into a circle of giggling women, who led her out of the theater. As the interaction unfolded, Edgar had lit a cigar. William turned to face him again, greeted by a cloud of cigar smoke. The young man let out a cough.

"Touchy broad," Edgar chuckled, shooting a side glance at his client. "Getting real popular with the ladies already?"

"I—I never assumed . . . I mean, it was so unexpected-"

"Hey now, take it easy," the agent chuckled, his cigar hanging from the corner of his lip. "This is good. You're gaining a following, see?"

William furrowed his brow, nodded, and took a breath.

"Of one person, maybe," he mumbled. Edgar raised his eyebrows, making the magician uncomfortable. "Granted, she's a very nice young lady," he stuttered. "I'm only saying, I thought there'd be-"

"Ya thought you'd have throngs of people chasing you down the streets, begging ya to do tricks. These things take time, kiddo."

William, once again, felt defeated by that truth. Of course it took time, but three years? That seemed like plenty of time to gain a proper following. Edgar was never one to sugar-coat things, that was for certain. Perhaps that particular trait was something that the magician needed more of.

"You're right," he mumbled. "You're always right."

Edagr's thin lips curled up into his cheek, forming a familiar smirk.

"What do you say we go together, kid?" he suddenly proposed. "I haven't had any real fun in a while."

William could only think that the absence of fun was his own fault.

"Well, why not?" he said with a shrug.

"That's the spirit," Edgar said, his voice a thick yet pleased growl. "Go home, get yourself cleaned up and ready to go. I'll be there to pick you up at six."

William agreed and bid farewell (for the moment) to his agent. He began to pack his props with a routine tug of guilt at his mind. The hat, the cards, the rabbits—totaling up to seven dollars and a dime. The price had repeated itself in his mind so many times. Nevertheless, William forced the thoughts out of his mind and shoved his things into the wardrobe, and the bunnies into their cage. He'd pay it off soon enough.


	3. Ragtime Gal

"You know, I do love the sound of your voice, Mr. Carter."

Elizabeth's head tilted to the side as she glanced at the table across from the magician. William cleared his throat. It was noisy, after all, and he needed to speak up, something that he'd always had trouble with.

"Well, thank you, Elizabeth," he stammered.

"Where exactly did you say you were from?" she asked, tracing her finger around her glass.

"London."

Elizabeth's eyes lit up, somehow more so than they already were.

"London, England?"

"Yes, miss."

"Wow . . . I've always wanted to go there," she replied, her voice lowering. "Is it just as beautiful as they say?"

"Mostly, I would say so. It does get dreadfully foggy in the winter."

"Foggy?"

"Yes, very much so. The London fog is serious business."

Elizabeth shifted in her seat.

"I suppose you're much smarter than the tourist advertisements we see all around," she giggled.

The brief pause that ensued gave someone the opportunity to tap the tall man on the shoulder from behind.

"Edgar," William greeted. His agent smiled at both him and the young girl sitting across from him. "Are you having a good time?"

"I was gonna ask the same thing, kiddo," the agent said, placing a hand on Will's shoulder. "I'm doing fine."

"As am I."

"And you, sweetheart?" Edgar inquired, directing his gaze to Elizabeth. "Is this fella giving you any trouble?"

"None at all, thank you," she answered, a sly grin on her face. "We're having a marvelous talk regarding the London fog."

"So that's what yer deal is, kid," the agent teased, pulling on William's ear. "You're full 'a fog."

"Oh, really, now," the magician said, blushing. His agent let out a haughty laugh.

"Only foolin' around," Edgar said.

A wild song began playing from the piano in the corner of the room—almost every American (roughly 99 percent of the bar) recognized the tune and gleefully started to get up and dance. Baffled, William watched as couples all performed steps that he had never seen before. He looked to Elizabeth, expecting a coherent explanation.

"C'mon, Will; we gotta dance! It's a Joplin rag!"

"A what?"

The girl stood up, pulling the nervous man from his seat and leading him in a few wild steps. Only slightly panicked, the man frantically tried to watch everyone, including Elizabeth, and breathlessly attempted to kick his legs out in sync with the other guests of the club. His face flushed red as he felt the others in the whirlwind of people giggling at his steps. Elizabeth laughed even when he slipped up, clearly having the time of her life as they hopped and skipped around the floor to the tune of the song. Eventually, as the song drew to a close, William had only just gotten the hang of the two-step dance. Breathless, he and Elizabeth returned to their seats.

"Scott Joplin, Swipesy Cakewalk!" the piano player shouted over the cheering people. William clapped.

"Nicely done, kid!" Edgar exclaimed. He hadn't participated in the dance, but only watching was enough for him to be entertained. "I knew you had it in ya!"

"Well, I—thank you," the young man wheezed.

"You just need a little practice, but it ain't hard," Elizabeth said, her voice also thick with heavy breaths.

William took a swig of his drink—a foamy root beer. Elizabeth giggled profusely as the man revealed a foam mustache just under his pointed nose. Before any more conversation could be had, another wild song played from the corner. Just like that, William found himself dancing on the floor again, led by Elizabeth. The night went on, with an array of frilly dresses and rolled-up sleeves bumping together in merry movement. It can be said that the magician hadn't had this much fun in years.

* * *

 **A/N: Soooo the chapters are a teeny bit short now, but moving on, they'll be getting significantly longer, don't worry. Thank you! ^_^**


	4. The Post

William shut his door behind him, throwing a glance at the clock—2:45 A.M. With a heavy sigh of exhaustion, the man shuffled his way to the desk and kicked off his shoes, now certain that they were too small for him. The rigorous dancing and constant movement stole the feeling from his feet, perhaps besides the numbing pain. William flopped into the chair. He put his face in his hands, as if he didn't know where to begin. He had no energy left, even though his mind raced with the leftover adrenaline.

Edgar had asked about Elizabeth on the way home—he'd said something about a serious relationship, though it wasn't clear whether he was joking or not. William couldn't have considered that, especially not in his financial state.

"She wouldn't be happy with me," he'd concluded. "I'm nothing but a poor stage magician."

William knew that Edgar couldn't deny that. For once, the agent had decided against articulating his thought on that.

"Well, I'm only throwin' it out there," his agent had said with a shrug.

William's gaze moved to a small pile of papers as he tried to clear his head of his flickering, spinning thoughts. He squinted, recalling for a faint moment that they were not there when he'd left. A scrap of paper at the top of the pile read,

 _I took the trouble of delivering your mail today. You're welcome._

Without any signature, William could tell it was clearly one of the neighbors. It wasn't the first time they'd done that for him. Flipping through, he could find nothing of interest until the end of the pile—a postcard. A tiny smile formed on his lips as he read the scrawling on the lines.

 _William,_

 _You've finally come to America! How exciting! Has your show taken New York by storm yet? I_

 _fear we may have just missed each other – the city was too much for me, so I've gone west –_

 _It really is amazing out here – Maybe you could visit sometime?_

 _Have you corresponded with mother lately?_

 _The port is dreadfully inconsistent out here._

 _I can't believe that she hasn't met the twins yet!_

 _Warmest regards,_

 _-Jack_

The warmth of familiarity caused Will, for a moment, to forget his swirling storm of thoughts. He sighed with the newly found comfort as he read over his brother's message another time. It was soothing to hear from his brother, given the difficult times that had fallen on him.

They were said to be nearly opposites, he and his brother, Jack. William had been immensely interested in the art of stage magic, while Jack led a life studying and practicing law. Evidently, the promise of America proved to be better for Jack than for him. After all, it made sense that there was more work in the field of law rather than stage magic. The very thought of his brother so immersed in the field of law made him yawn. Will stood up from the desk and began to make his way to the bed. He hadn't realized how much his head hurt until he could hear knocking.

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

It was a slow, steady sound, almost mechanical. Will squinted, wondering if it was a trick of his mind. He recalled the time.

"Too late," he mumbled. "Too late for visitors."

The magician looked towards the door as he heard heavy footsteps moving down the hallway. A small envelope sat at the base of the door. William shook his head, frankly too tired to deal with it at that moment.

"Tomorrow," he said to the envelope. "I'll tend to you tomorrow."

With that, still in his good clothes, he flopped into bed, his feet hanging off (poor fellow was too tall), and easily fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

 _Knock-knock-knock._

The young man opened his eyes very slowly, unsure of whether he was in a dream. That particular knock sounded all too familiar.

 _Knock-knock-knock-knock_ , the door protested. Only one person abused his door like that.

"Edgar," William muttered. "Oh, blast him; coming in at this hour."

"Kid, you in there?" called the gruff and muffled voice of his agent. "It's one 'o clock in the afternoon. Better not be sleeping!"

That was enough to fully awaken the tired young man. He leaped out of bed and looked at the clock—to find that his agent was right. The clock ticked away mockingly.

"Coming, coming," the young man said, his voice still sleep-ridden as he shoved his glasses onto his face. He opened the door to a tidied-up Edgar, who stifled a chuckle upon seeing his young and messy client.

"Ya need to get out more, kid," he said, inviting himself into the apartment. "Last night was nothing."

"For you, perhaps," Will replied, shutting the door. "I'll likely not be doing that again for a while."

"Well, why not? Didn't you have fun?"

"Of course," the young man said, sitting down at his desk. "I had the time of my life. I'm just . . . well, I'm not built for such endeavors."

"Suit yerself, 'old chap'," Edgar said with a shrug. "You're gonna regret hiding once you're my age."

"We'll see about that."

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

William recognized the knock. Edgar didn't.

"You expecting someone, kid?"

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

"No, not at all."

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

Being the only one of the two who was standing up, Edgar took it upon himself to answer the door.

" 'Yello."

William's heart sank as he saw the man at the door. It was a man he'd never seen before in his life—a lumbering, beefy man with messy stubble under his chin and a greasy mat of black hair.

"What can we do ya for, handsome?" Edgar said, apparently unfazed by the gruesome appearance of the man.

"Yer William?"

He spoke in a growl, like a snoring pig.

"No, sir, he's over there," Edgar said, pointing. William wanted to shrink in his seat. Nevertheless, he got up.

"Can I help you, sir?" he said politely. He tried to avoid the fact that the man smelled like an old dumpster.

"Note's on the floor," the brute grunted. Will and Edgar simultaneously looked at the wooden floor, where the small envelope still lay. Edgar picked it up.

"Is it . . . from you?" the agent asked slowly.

"The boss," the man responded. " 'S from the boss."

Edgar shrugged and handed it to his client. Puzzled, William began tearing it open.

"He's getting mad," the brute said. William's insides dropped, coming to understand who the note was from. "Said this week . . . or else."

Without warning, the giant man slammed the door shut in Edgar's face. Startled, the agent raised both eyebrows.

"Well, wasn't he jolly," he commented. "Remind me to have him over for supper sometime."

William hardly heard the comment. He read over the scribbled note multiple times before Edgar could see it.

 _William! You are late again! Where is the muny?_

 _Do you think Mr. Witherstone is runnin a charatee?_

 _You better pay up this week or there will be trubble!_

 _I will find you!_


	5. Watched by Shadows

Edgar read over William's shoulder. He squinted, attempting to read over the spelling errors.

"Who's this Witherstone guy?" he asked. "You owe someone money?"

William let out a shaky sigh and stepped over to the desk, picking up a small slip of paper. He handed it to his agent.

"George T. Witherstone, dramatic props and magical apparel. Bill of goods . . . holy mackerel, kid!"

The young man cringed, as though getting scolded by his mother.

"Seven whoppers and a dime?!"

That's what the bill said—seven dollars and ten cents. Will nodded. His agent set the bill on the desk and put his forehead in his hand.

"Will, this is outrageous. You still haven't paid off your props?"

The young man shook his head.

"How could I, Edgar? I haven't had the money for weeks now!"

Edgar let out a whistle.

"Hoo boy. I thought you did that already."

Will cringed again, his guilt forming a lump in his throat.

"Edgar . . ." he said as his eyes wandered to the post card on the desk. "I've been thinking."

"Oh yeah? I can imagine you have, looking at this."

Will ignored the snarky retort.

"I . . . I've been having horrible luck here in New York, you see."

"Yeah?"

"And . . . well, I . . . I think it's time that I looked somewhere else. Somewhere to be somebody. To make my mark."

Edgar squinted. He noticed the postcard from California sitting on the faded wooden desk.

"Are you trying to avoid this debt?"

"No, no, that's not . . . well, not quite." It might have been a lie, maybe not. "If I move somewhere else, maybe I'll have better luck, you see? I might find a better life, with better pay."

Edgar suddenly held a cigar, and began to light it. He shook out the match and placed it in the ashtray on the desk.

"I guess that's reasonable," he said, furrowing his brow. He pointed to the postcard. "But that's an awfully long way off, and pretty different than the city."

William shook his head.

"I've lived here for three years, Edgar," he began. "Not once have my efforts as a magician been fruitful. I'm still struggling to manage my own finances, let alone to pay this bill. It may be time to move on."

Edgar took a drag on the cigar, filling William's nostrils with the smell of smoke.

"Just because of this debt, you're gonna . . . just up and leave like that?"

William could have sworn there was a softness in his agent's voice.

"I need the money, Edgar. I've looked everywhere for a decent job—a substantial one. And for three years; what good has that done me?"

"No, you're right, kiddo."

There was a brief pause between them. Edgar blew the cigar smoke up into the air. His thin eyes narrowed as a thought came to him.

"Kid," he started. "Tell you what . . ."

"Hm?"

"I'll pay some for you. No sweat. Just to hold the old man over; what do you say?"

William frowned.

"No, no, I wouldn't want you involved in this," William said. "It's far too much."

"I insist," Edgar said, reaching into his coat pocket. "Look, I got two dollars right here."

"Edgar . . ."

"Now, look, kid," the agent started as William pushed away the money. "I knew the day I met you that there's something real special deep down. I thought, 'That kid's got something'. I don't take clients easy, Will, but you've got potential; I can feel it."

Will couldn't help but smile.

"I'm gonna send you off to Cali, kid," the agent said suddenly. "Two dollars fer Witherstone, two for the ticket."

William could only shake his head more.

"Come, now, Edgar, you know that's far too much-"

"You don't need to worry 'bout that. Grab your stuff, kid."

Edgar was right; he didn't accept clients very often, but this had grown to be far more than a business relationship. The agent truly did care for the boy.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Will asked as his friend snapped open the vacant suitcase.

"When my mind's made up, there's no going back. Come on, let's get a move on, kid."  
Eager, William began gathering his belongings.

"I'm coming, Jack," he mumbled happily.


	6. I'm Leaving Today

**A/N: Apologies, folks; bit of a short chapter today. ^_^"**

* * *

"So, this is Grand Central Station," Edgar said over the echoing voices of train passengers. "Pretty fancy."

William nodded, nervously looking around at the grandeur that was Grand Central. The rumbling of trains could be heard from where they stood, click-clacking along the rails and hissing steam. The two walked up to the window labeled: "Ticket Sales – Coach Class".

"Just one, sweetheart," Edgar said to the young lady, who nodded.

"That'll be a dollar and fifty cents."

Edgar paid the money, in return receiving the little slip of paper.

"You're in coach 3492," she muttered, reaching over the counter and punching a hole in the ticket. "Thanks for choosing Sunset Lines, and we hope you have a lovely trip."

"I'm not goin' anywhere, hon," Edgar pressed, leaning on the counter. "I'll be here for a while."

The girl narrowed her eyes.

"Sir, you're holding up the line."

"Come on, Edgar," William said, pulling his friend aside. "We need to find my train."

It wasn't very hard to find. After a short descent down the stairs and an even shorter walk down the corridor through the crowd of people, William found his coach.

"Welcome to Sunset Lines, thanks for traveling with us today. Where ya headed, shorty?" the conductor addressed William after taking his ticket and punching a hole through it.

"San Francisco, California," the young man replied.

"Sunny California, hm? Nice place, nice place. Have a nice ride, kid."

"Thank you."

William turned to face Edgar before boarding the train.

"Well, I . . . I suppose . . ."

"I'm not tearing up, kiddo," his friend said, a smirk crossing his face. "But it's the closest I've ever gotten."

With a haughty laugh, Edgar seized his young client's hand with both of his and shook it. They were only there for a moment, before the people in line began to protest. Will stepped up into the coach and poked his head through the window right above his friend.

"Write to me, kid, all right?" Edgar said, his smirk now more of a wide, sincere grin.

"I will, Edgar. I won't ever forget about what you've done for me!"

"I sure hope not," he said. "Stay outta trouble, ya rascal."

With that, the train whistle blew loudly, signaling its leave from the station. It slowly pulled away. Will watched his friend get further and further away from him, waving. Edgar waved, then, just as Will caught a final glimpse of him, lit a cigar.

"So long, kid," the agent mumbled as his British client vanished. "Hope you find some luck."


	7. The End of the Beginning

**A/N: Ahh, I'm a bit late . . . like, a week. So sorry for the wait, all. :S**

* * *

The train rattled along, merrily and cheerfully as the passengers aboard it were. Women and men and children alike had their share of conversation, enjoying the luxury of their respective coaches. William, himself, sat in his seat, surrounded by a small group of children, who looked at him with fascination. Upon closer inspection, a passerby might notice that he dazzled the children with his trusty deck of cards, once again putting his magical side to work. As he pulled the card from under the hat of a little boy in the front, the rest of the children gasped and "ooh"ed with awe at the foreigner's act.

"How'd you do that, mister?" they chirped, all coming at him at one time. William widened his eyes at their sudden and eager approach, laughing nervously. After all, a crowd of curious children can be a daunting thing.

"Simple," he stammered, not coming off as confidently as before. "Just a little . . ." he gasped dramatically, fanning the cards with a flick of his wrist, ". . . magic."

"Oooh," the children all breathed, their eyes getting as big as dinner plates.

"Can you throw them like weapons?" asked a chubbier, freckled boy in front.

"I want to see them change colors!" cried a tiny blonde girl.

"No, no, turn them into flowers!" shouted another girl with braids. "I saw a man do that once."

"Make them pokey and put them on the seats!" snickered another little boy.

"I want to see them all burst into flame!" cried a passionate little girl with black pigtails and a green newsboy cap.

"Children, children, please!" called William, holding up his hands. He looked at the few adults behind them, seeking help. He knew well, however, that the adults were just as eager as the children to find out what the mystical man had up his sleeve. He settled them down with a few hushings and hand gestures.

"Let me tell you a secret," he began, whispering as though no one else could hear him. "Magic can be done by anyone."

"Anyone?" the children collectively whispered. William nodded.

"The secret is this: never stop believing in the power of magic," the young man whispered. "You'll never know quite where you'll . . ." -he snapped his fingers- "find it."

He pointed to the woman behind the children, who wore a floppy yellow hat. As she nonchalantly turned her head, the queen of hearts appeared among the poofy feathers. Just as the children began to get excited again, the train whistle blew.

"Next stop, Pennsylvania station!" the conductor cried. "All young members of Miss Briar's orphanage, please exit the coach in an orderly fashion!"

Much to his surprise, all of the children sauntered off, upset that they had to leave the strange man and his magic. William chuckled and put his cards back into the deck, awkwardly asking the woman for his card back. She gladly gave it to him, complimented him on his way with the children, and let him sit back down in his seat. For a little while, he couldn't stop smiling.

It felt as though the train had been rattling on for the longest time. It was only a few days, but it seemed like so much longer. The ambitious young man had been eager to arrive in California—after all, he'd heard so many things about it. It was such a promising place, as he'd originally thought of all of America. But there was the catch—what if California wasn't everything he had been hoping for? William shook his head at the thought. He may as well hope for the best; there hadn't been a lot of time to worry when Edgar sent him away.

The temperature of the coaches rose considerably, and more ladies had been pulling out their fans and waving them at their faces, desperate for a bit of relief from the desert heat. They had reached the southern part of America in a matter of roughly a week, making stops less frequently. William grew tired very quickly of the desert scenery, at first amazed that this land could be so dried-out and dead, then realizing that it was certainly not pretty. The young man's mind began to wander, wondering how he could improve on his act. After all, if the crowds of New York hadn't been bowled over by his performance, how could he expect to impress the people of San Francisco?

A series of shouts came from the front of the train and soon spread to the passengers, becoming panicked voices. Curious and almost eager for some excitement, the young man scrambled to his feet. He joined the crowd that piled up on the side of the train.

"What's happening?" William asked an older man, whose eyes were wide and looking out the open window.

"Look down there!"

William's great height enabled him to crane his neck out over the other passengers. He squinted through his glasses, wondering if the sight was a mirage. There, just ahead, was a wagon, stuck on the tracks. As the train approached it at an alarming rate, it became apparent that it was a circus wagon.

"Tell the driver to stop!" screamed the passengers. "Stop the train!"

As if on cue, the brakes screeched, propelling all the passengers forward. Some were fortunate enough to be caught by the seats, others tumbled down the aisle. William was not so fortunate as his stick-like legs gave out under him. He grabbed onto the seat as he started to fall, hoping not to land on someone else as they all flew ahead of him. The people who had their heads out of the windows immediately pulled them back in, averting their eyes.

 _Thud._

No one had time to think about the sudden stop. As soon as the train went quiet, the coach began, ever so slowly, to tilt onto its side.

Chaos ensued. William would have covered his ears if he hadn't been focused on seizing something stable. People screamed, fully aware of the situation, and terrified of the outcome. Luggage and passengers alike all fell to the right side of the train, some people being struck by falling bags and trays. William looked up—or where he assumed to be up—to see a heavy object careening towards him. He dodged the object, allowing it to crash through the window. Just as the window shattered, William felt another object hit him at full force, shooting him into an oblivion—straight out of the broken window. A woman screamed as William looked up, realizing that the coach was making ready to fall on top of him. Without a second thought, he scrambled to avoid it, allowing it to come crashing down at the ground next to him. William breathed in the large cloud of dust and sand, hacking and wheezing as it filled his lungs. Choking, the man kept his face low to the ground, his world spinning around him.

* * *

The silence woke the magician. Just as he came to, the man realized that there should have been people scattered about, perhaps even helping him up or fanning his face. But no, he woke up covered in sweat and dirt, the train coach still just as it had been—toppled over. The only problem was the silence. How could they have missed him?

As William hoisted himself up, his side sore from whatever had hit him before, he came to another odd realization: he was at the front of the train, and his luggage sat right beside him. A sound, like a record very slowly crackling to a start, hit his ears. William whirled around to see the circus wagon, colorfully in shambles.

"How-?"

Did someone forget about him? Had no one seen him throughout the wreckage of the train? Where had everyone gone off to? Did something scare them off? Had he dreamed the whole thing? No, surely not. Now was not the right time to panic.

These thoughts tumbled around in the magician's mind. He found himself pacing around the wreckage, trying to collect himself. As he did so, his foot caught on something hard and heavy, tripping him.

"Blast-!"

He toppled to the ground rather ungracefully, sticking out his hands to catch himself. He scowled at whatever had tripped him, as though it were intentionally doing so. William assumed it was the heat that made his ears catch the sound of something giggling.

"Who's there?"

There was no answer. William frowned and brushed the sand from the object, revealing it to be a book. It was faded to a shade of gray, with a bright red "M" over the cover.

" _Aperire._ "

The whisper startled Will. His head snapped upward, knowing for certain that he'd heard the sound.

"Who's that?"

" _Aperire, puer._ "

William looked all around him. Not a single person, or being, was in sight.

"I'm hearing things already," he muttered. He blew the dust and sand from the book, slowly peeling the cover from the pages, as though it were stuck. He flipped through the pages, his young, curious eyes widening at the inscriptions and the pictures.

"Why, what is this?"

Strange markings were scattered about the crisp papers, as well as objects that the young man had never seen before. He began leafing through the book, the only thing taking his eyes away from it being the gust of sandy wind that flew into his eyes.

"Right," he said, shutting the book and rubbing his eyes. "I need help."

With that, he picked up his luggage and began to walk into the distance, following the railroad tracks. All the while, he kept the book with him, flipping through as he walked. He read anything that he could, reciting incantations unlike any other that he'd heard before. The words on the pages, with each word, shuffled around, as though pleased with him.

Whatever it was, wherever it came from, the book captured his attention as though he were madly in love. Who knows what possibilities it could hold?

* * *

 **A/N: For those wondering:**

 ** _Aperire_ \- "open"**

 ** _Puer_ \- "youth; child"**


	8. Wonder and Awe

"Maxwell! Maxwell!"

The tall, thin man pursed his lips. He'd been hoping not to be seen by anyone. He pushed through the crowd, in a desperate attempt to outrun whoever was after him. Unfortunately, they stopped him, pulling on his arm (as his shoulder was too far up).

"Maxwell, is it true that your real name is William?"

The man nodded.

"If you'll excuse me, my good man," he said sharply and firmly. "I'm going to be late to the show."

"Oh, of course!" the man with a small notebook stammered. William had become rather intimidating, after all. That was something that he'd been working on. "I apologize for any inconvenience."

"Quite all right," mumbled the magician as he took leave.

William looked up at the theater—the "Grand Pine". He'd heard wonderful things about it, and had now been considering performing there for a while. After all, it was very close to where he was staying. Now all he had to do was get a feel for it.

"One ticket to the ballet, please," he said to the elderly woman at the counter. She nodded and accepted his dollar. "Thank you."

"Enjoy the show, handsome," she replied, handing him a ticket.

Once Will had found his seat, he got comfortable and looked around. It wasn't the largest of theaters, but it would certainly have to do. He tried to ignore the people around him, whispering as they saw him.

"That's him."

"The Shadow Man."

"The magician, right? What's he doin' here?"

"Maxwell the Great."

Of course, William couldn't say he objected to the attention. It was all he'd dreamed of just a year ago, on the train to San Francisco. And it only took him a year to find the attention he'd wanted! He found himself wondering why he hadn't moved to California in the first place. Then again, perhaps he wouldn't have found the Codex.

The theater went dark, indicating the beginning of the performance. A hush moved throughout, starting from loud murmurs to silence. A piano began playing a classical tune, most likely a Beethoven piece. Most of the audience had heard it before.

It began slowly, allowing the dancers to begin their flowery movements. Everyone watched curiously as the women dressed in pale green tutus stepped lightly across the stage to the piece. They lifted their arms, emulating trees blowing in the wind. As the song picked up, suddenly changing its tone, a young and small woman in a pink dress took center stage, presumably finding herself "lost" in the "forest". Will tilted his head. The smallest young woman moved with a much lighter grace than the women around her. The women that acted as trees were taller and swayed threateningly towards the shorter girl. The "main character" tiptoed around to the pace of the song, her movements certainly more childlike than the other dancers. The audience could only assume that's what distinguished her from the other "characters".

The story unfolded so that the "trees" began to follow the girl's dance steps, and vice versa as they changed steps. A few minutes in, the song came to a dramatic pause, playing a much slower part as the young woman was greeted by a male dancer. The man appeared madly in love with the woman, but she did not return the feeling. Amusingly enough, the male dancer found himself "cornered" by the "trees", who chased him away. The audience chuckled at the sight. The ballet wrapped up with the young woman being protected by the trees, who catered to her every whim. They all acted, now, as servants rather than attempting to chase her out of the forest.

The performance came to an end, the final bars of the song being played just as the curtain closed. The audience clapped politely as the small group of dancers came forward and took a bow, the littlest one with the large eyes being in the center of the line. William smiled as she did. After all, her wide grin seemed contagious.

In the lobby of the theater, many people found their way towards William, commenting on his work and how incredible his previous performances had been. He thanked them all, deciding to wait until they had all gone so that he could speak with the owner of the theater. Just as the crowd began to thin out, the magician began to look for the office. He ducked into a hallway which he assumed to be where he could find it.

"Oh, excuse me," he said as a woman in a red trench coat brushed past him. She turned to face him. "I, uh . . . I'm looking for the main office," he said.

The young woman's eyes were larger than life itself—a truly notable feature. Before he could say another word, he realized who it was, taking note of her short, childlike stature.

"Th-the office is the last door on th' left," she stuttered in a slight and soft Southern accent. William looked at her for a moment before answering.

"Many thanks, young lady," he said. "Your performance was riveting, I might add."

The young woman blushed. She smiled shyly at the tall man that hovered above her.

"Thank you kindly," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "That's awful nice of you, sir."

"I'm only speaking the truth," he said. He then lowered his voice. "Just take care not to get too close to the trees outside." He gave her a wink.

She smiled even wider now, her teeth showing. The magician, becoming bolder, decided to speak again.

"Do you perform here often?"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "I've never performed anywhere else."

"Well, I'm looking to use this theater for my own performances, as well," he said. "I may be seeing you quite often."

The girl nodded, her smile changing to an expression of wonder and recognition.

"I've seen your posters, I think," she said softly. "Aren't you Maxwell the Great? The Shadow Man?"

William bowed low and took the girl's hand.

"Correct, young lady."

"Oh . . ."

The girl blushed, matching her red coat as the magician planted a tiny kiss on her hand. She gasped, unsure of how to respond.

"Why, aren't you a gentleman?" she said.

"I try to be," Will replied, straightening himself up. "That's how my mother raised me."

"I'm sure. She sounds like a lovely woman."

"Oh, she was. She's not the only one, though."

The little dancer giggled, now attempting to hide her face. It was as though no one had ever paid her a compliment before. She assumed it was the man's foreign nature and deep, charming voice—it was new and exciting. As she looked back, both her and the magician noticed another man standing behind her. His expression was not one of amusement or even remotely happy. The young woman's face fell with disappointment.

"Apologies, Philip; I was . . . I was directing this man to the office," she stammered. "He was lookin' for the boss."

"No worries, sweetie," Philip replied, his eyes scouring the tall British man in front of them. The little dancer looked almost afraid. "Say, you're a new face around here," Philip said. "You planning on staying, pal?"

"I am," William replied. "I intend on performing here."

"Well, welcome to the Grand Pines team," Philip said, extending a hand. William shook it, smiling politely. "The name's Philip. I was up on stage, too, you know."

The magician recognized the face—he had gotten chased away by the trees.

"And you did a fine job, sir," William said. "Now, young lady, I never caught your name-"

"Charlie," the young dancer blurted, eager to speak to the charming British man. "My name is Charlie."

"Charmed."

Philip suddenly pulled Charlie closer to him by her shoulder, from behind. William silently compared Philip to an animal claiming his territory. Charlie reluctantly looked at her shoulder, where his head rested.

"Come along, Charlie; we've got a dinner to attend," he announced. "Let's leave the magic man to his business."

Charlie nodded and carefully pulled away from the man behind her.

"Good evenin', Mister Maxwell."

They both walked down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. The magician lingered for a small amount of time.

"Good night, Miss Charlie."


End file.
